Southern standard. (McMinnville, Tenn.) 1879-current, 1887-05-07
BREAD AND BUTTER AND HONEY
BY MARY L. WILKINS.
The Congregationalist.

W hSbA bliO lOdS WV "
Bolton that afternoon, and left Alice
alone in the house, they had no idea
that there could be any danger for
her. Alice was their little only
daughter, and, rather than not leave
her in perfectsafety, they would have
stayed away from Bolton forever.
To be sure the house was good
half-mile away from any other house,
and was very nice one of its kind.
1t was large and well kept, with a
broad piazza all around it, and two
bay windows, and had a gener-
al air Of prosperity. Any one seeing
the house here on this country road,
where nice houses were not plentiful,
would have thought that well-to-do
people lived in it, and it was proba-
bly, well furnished with nice things.
However, no one so far had thought
so, to the detriment of either house or
people. Tramps and burglars were
seldom heard of in this peaceful part
of the country, and the Armstrong;
had lived here twenty-five years and
never once been molested. So they
never thought Of such thing today.
They did not even tell Alice to lock
the doors. Once, years before, a
straggler had come along, and Mrs.
Armstrong had given him something
to eat; but he was quite inoffensive,
and that was so long ago she had
nearly forgotten it. Such a thing as
a straggler never entered her mind
now the chief topic of discussion,
when they came to start, was Alice's
luncheon.
1t might have been bad plan, but
the little girl had always plain
bread and butter luncf between
meals. Today, however, she had an
idea that she merited something a
little extra to pay her for her lonely
afternoon, land disappointment. Alice
herself wanted very much to go to
Bolton with her father and mother,
but she had a cold land it was thought
not prudent.
"Mother," said she, when her
mother was putting on her bonnet,
'what can have for lunch ?"
"Why,' what you always have"
said Mrs. Armstrong. "You can
spread yourselfa slice of bread and
butter"
"There was little of-that honey
left" murmured Alice, blushing.
Her mother laughed.
81 never saw such a child as you
are for honeyn' said she. "You
ought to turn yourself into a bee
yourself. Yes; l don't care. All is
if you have it this afternoon, you
won't nave IL Tor tea."
"I'd rather have it this afternoon, >
said Alice joyfully.
She stood at the window anC
watched her parents drive out o
sight down the road. She was {
slender little girl, with a pretty, seri
Cuc fnon n,,J cp,noth hroU-o bo;r
When she finally left the window
and looked about the vacant room, i
seemed to her that the clock tickeC
about twice as loud as she had eve
heard it. However, she was not il
the least afraid, only, of course, /
trifle lonesome. She got out he
Sunday school book, and sat dowr
in her little rocking-chair and reaC
awhile; then she got her box of wa
.ter-colors and painted. She haC
made up her mind that she would
not eat her lunch until three o'clock
when her father and mother would
have been gone about two hours. l
was a quarter of three when she go
tired Of her paints. She put then
away and washed her hands, ant
sat down at the window to wait unit
the clock struck. She began to fee
quite hungry, and thought pleasant.
of the honey.
She had only about three minute
longer to wait, when she saw a MAJ
coming down the road.
"Why, | wonder who that is =
said she.
She watched him interestedly a
long as she could see him; then Their
was a shuffling step in the drive, ant
a shadow stretched past the window
the man had come into the yard.
He gave quick glance at Alice i
the window, then he stepped up o
the piazza and knocked on the sid
door. Alice went promptly. Whe
she opened the door, there stood tn
man, shabby and ragged, with